


a helping hand

by usabuns



Category: DARLING In The FRANXX (Anime)
Genre: (i guess you could read it as a developing romance if you wanted to?), (mild angst), Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Canon Related, Feeding (kind of?), Fluff and Humor, Food Issues, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Supportive Zorome, a rare lapse in zorome’s tsundere-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: Or, the one where Zorome helps Futoshi eat properly again, and maybe takes care of him a bit too well.Set between episodes 16 & 17





	a helping hand

It’s not like he’ll ever ask him, but—Zorome’s sure that besides the anxiety over their current ‘Papa’ situation, one of the reasons Futoshi hasn’t been able to keep his food down _must_ be because of his endless, shameless teasing of his weight. 

He ends up pondering this for the next few days after the fact, staring at Futoshi and wondering if all those teasing pinches of his belly and all those sneers of “fatty” and “fatso” have somehow...played a part in causing this mess. The jokes had always been playful before, because Zorome would poke fun at him and then later on Futoshi would always make fun of him back. 

The fact is that Zorome can give Futoshi a lot of shit, but he can’t take even a quarter of it in return. This is how it’s always been: Futoshi being the one with more patience and thicker skin, and Zorome who was hotheaded and with secretly low self-esteem. 

This time, though, it seems that they’re both the vulnerable ones. 

Well, this is what Zorome assumes. _It can’t just be anxiety making him throw up, right?_ is what he’d thought when he’d first noticed Futoshi doing it, a few weeks into their month alone. He was secretly vomiting, and Zorome was secretly watching. Maybe he was overreacting, but... Was it wrong that he wasn’t confronting him about it—wasn’t saying anything, or getting help? 

But, then again, they all had their own problems at the moment. 

So that’d been why, when Futoshi had quit eating entirely under the guise of ‘dieting,’ Zorome had felt his heart pound loud with concern—and why he’d brushed it off quickly, eager to tease him about it with the usual joking. Like it wasn’t serious. Like it’d all go away. 

At dinner the same day, when all of them had been eager to eat the food they’d made by themselves, and when Futoshi had refused to eat—he had snapped. This hadn’t been the way he wanted to talk to Futoshi about the problem, but all the hurt and worry had just slipped out. 

It sort of worked out by the end of the night; it sort of felt fixed. Everyone’s problems had come out and they’d all talked and cried, and then Zorome and Futoshi’s usual crude jokes came back. And they’d all laughed harder than ever before. 

When everyone retired for the night, Futoshi had been the first one asleep—looking comfortable in the bottom bunk, a blissful expression on his face, snoring soundly. He’d looked so...peaceful when Zorome had carefully pulled the curtains back and looked at him, making sure he was okay. 

Then Zorome had climbed up the ladder, laid himself in bed (sparing a glance at Mitsuru on the bed across from the bunk), and stared at the ceiling. 

—Well...maybe he should quit calling Futoshi ‘fat’ for a while? 

His eyebrows crease. It’s still a delicate, sensitive topic right now, isn’t it? The guilt festers up in the pit of his gut and Zorome shifts his body so he’s laying on his side. Part of the blame for Futoshi’s purging feels like it’s on him. He sits up in bed, sheets crinkling around him. 

Hmm. He’ll just have to do something about that. 

* * *

”Yo, Futoshi.” 

Zorome’s stalking over to him, placid expression on his face and a small tray laden on his palm. The other hand is stuffed into his pocket hastily, and he won’t quite meet Futoshi’s gaze fully, as if he’s still nervous. Jittery. 

It’s understandable, as it’s only been half a week since _that day_. Zorome hasn’t noticed him throwing up, but some part of him anxiously wonders if Futoshi’s been hiding it better. But he remembers they’re with each other all the time, and there’s no way that— 

He shakes his head mentally. 

In any case, Futoshi’s been eating normally (maybe not _quite_ as much as he probably can, but Zorome’s helping him ease into it), and Zorome’s kept his promise to himself by not making fun of his weight at all. 

Zorome’s voice gets Futoshi’s attention, his head tilting to the side and looking up at the other. As he does this, a small smile blooms on his face, making Zorome briefly grin back in return. “What’s up, Zorome?” 

He huffs. “The girls made cookies.” He sits down next to the Futoshi on the concrete steps of the back porch, under the shade of the awning, and scoots close enough so he’s slightly leaning against his shoulder. 

“Mm?” Futoshi’s stumpy eyebrows raise a little when Zorome holds the platter out with one hand, sucking in his cheeks. Futoshi blinks, mouth forming a straight line that screams confusion. 

One of Zorome’s own thin eyebrows arches. “—Well?” He urges it slightly, and Futoshi concedes, grabbing the plate. There are only four cookies on it— “Sorry, these are all that’s left.” It’s not like he’ll tell Futoshi that _he’s_ the one who ate most of the batch (simultaneously, he wipes the crumbs off the corners of his mouth). 

”A-All of them?” A light blush spreads across Futoshi’s cheeks and he turns his gaze away from Zorome. “But... Are you s-sure...?” 

”Just eat them, Futoshi!” Zorome says, pouting slightly. Futoshi winces a bit beside him, so Zorome clears his throat a little after realizing he’d sounded a bit harsh. Then, in a more light-hearted tone, “I know you want them. And they’re actually good, I would know ‘cause I already had some.” 

Futoshi looks at him weird. “U-Usually you tease me if I eat this much...” His blush deepens, but there’s something like an embarrassed, wobbly smile on his lips. 

”I-I don’t!” says Zorome, suddenly defensive. 

Futoshi laughs sharply and smirks a little. “You do! And if I eat more than one or two you’ll say, ‘You can go on without those!’ or ‘You need to cut down on sweets before you get even fatter!’, or—“ 

”—No, dumbass!” As he exclaims it, Zorome turns his body abruptly and grips Futoshi’s shoulder with one hand and his chest with the other. “It’s not like that all the time!” 

”Well, I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.” There’s a sheepish laugh from Futoshi, but he turns his gaze toward Zorome again (who’s slowly moving his hands off of him) and cracks a huge grin. “That’s just what we do, so...” 

And then Zorome is blushing a little, too, now. He shakes his head, but is still somewhat relieved that the teasing was seen as joking in a mutual way. ”—A-Anyway, quit stalling and eat already! Otherwise I’ll force-feed you!” 

When the last word leaves his lips, Zorome snatches a cookie off the plate that’s sitting on Futoshi’s lap, shoving it up close to his mouth. Expectedly, Futoshi flinches, instinctively moving his face back. “J-Jeez, Zorome...!” 

After a few beats of hesitation, Futoshi bites down into the cookie without grabbing it first, leaving Zorome’s fingers still gripped around it. The latter promptly pulls his hand back with a soft cough, rubbing the crumbs off of it on his uniform front. Futoshi’s hand replaces Zorome’s as he chews, poising the remaining half in front of his face. 

”Mmm...” Futoshi’s lips lift up in a small grin. Zorome watches a little too closely, blinking when Futoshi stuffs the rest of the warm chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. “You’re right, it’s really good,” he says, chewing, his mouth still full. “I just wish we actually had milk to go with it...” 

Then Zorome’s cheeks shade to a light pink, and now he’s smiling widely. He breaks out into a laugh, suddenly grabbing Futoshi by his nearest shoulder again. “R-Right, right! But still, go eat up, big guy! I don’t wanna see a single crumb left on that plate!” 

Maybe Zorome feels a little weird for trying to coax him so much—he never thought in all the years he’d known Futoshi that he’d _ever_ have to ask him to finish his meal—but there’s also a fuzzy feeling in his chest that makes him feel warm. Like he’s floating. 

Again, Zorome’s gaze drifts back and forth between Futoshi—with a blissful look on his face—and the last two cookies on the plate, with the third being chomped on already. Zorome only side-glances now and then: Mostly uninterested, and preoccupied with twirling some of his hair on his finger, moving his pinkie around in his ear, and resting his chin on his palm. 

He’s leaning with his elbow on his knee, too, hunched forward, his legs angled sharply on the concrete steps. “Are you feeling alright today?” Zorome plays with his cuffs. 

Futoshi tenses up a bit, but relaxes, legs stretching out—the tray with the last cookie still sitting atop his lap. He turns his head to look Zorome in the eye, chubby cheeks (slightly bulging with food) fading crimson. “Ah, yeah.” His little smile is fond and precious. “I’ve been feeling better lately. I can hold down my food again, at least.” The last part comes out as an embarrassed grumble, and Futoshi quickly snags the final cookie, slowly chewing. 

The chocolate flows out, gooey and thick, sticking to the corners of his mouth. 

”So you’re not...” Zorome swallows, biting his lip, unwillingly to finish his question lest it be proven true. 

Futoshi’s eyebrows raise, and he averts his gaze. ”Ehh? Well... N-No, not anymore.” 

Zorome releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Good! No, that’s _great_ , you dope!” He lunges forward, water stinging the corners of his eyes, and hugs Futoshi tight from the side. He hears Futoshi laugh gently, pushing his tray out of the way. Zorome pulls back just as fast as he’d embraced him, however. 

His blush gets stronger, but he brushes his hands against his pants while clearing his throat and tugging at his collar. ”—Err, you know, you’ll be eating like you used to in no time, Futoshi...!” Zorome stands up almost proudly, extending his hand for Futoshi to take. “Anyway! Let’s go play ball now!” 

Futoshi smiles cheekily as he takes it. “Yeah, you’re on!” 

* * *

Breakfast a few days later consists of food they’d all made themselves, instead of the ration meals. It’s been like this since they’d learned how to cook, all three meals a day made from scratch by following the instructions in the books. 

All of them are nearly finished eating when Zorome glances over at Futoshi again—who thankfully only has his soup left. The rest of his food is all mostly gone, only a few crumbs and partial pieces left on the array of little plates. He’s still a fast eater. Zorome supposes this a good sign, though. It’s progress. 

Zorome munches on the last of his salad before putting his fork down. ”You can have my leftovers, Futoshi. Here—“ Before he can protest, Zorome places two bread rolls onto one of Futoshi’s empty plates, and slides the rest of his grilled fish on top of the bones of the fish the other had already eaten. 

After he does, Futoshi’s eyes go wide by a small fraction, staring at the extra food, eyebrows slowly furrowing. He doesn’t say anything immediately, just keeps staring for a few moments until he picks up his fork and pokes the fish curiously, as if he doesn’t know what it is. But Futoshi sets his utensils down and picks up one piece of bread—untouched by Zorome—lifting it up to his lips. Before he bites down, he says, ”Aren’t you still hungry, Zorome?” 

Zorome, who’d been playing with his own fish skeleton, straightens up at the sound of his name. “I wouldn’t give them to you if I wasn’t full, dumbass. Besides, you would always finish up my food for me before.” 

It was true that Futoshi often asked him for leftover once Zorome was finished with his meals, but of course he hadn’t done that in a long while. Not since before the battle at the Gran Crevasse. It’d been one of his first clues that something had been wrong with Futoshi, in fact; he’d noticed this well before the puking and his abstinence from eating. 

So, maybe if Futoshi accepted the leftovers this time, it’d mean that... 

”Yeah, I guess I did...” Briefly, Futoshi’s hand flies to scratch the back of his neck, and he shifts in his seat. It doesn’t take long for him to lift the loaf up to his mouth again, and sink his teeth into the crispy crust and soft insides. 

Zorome watches out of the corner of his eye, careful not to look too suspicious, while cracking the fish bones into tiny pieces and rearranging them on his plate, like a game. He just keeps looking on as Futoshi takes the second piece of bread, eating that too, and moving on to the fish. 

He sees Futoshi hesitate a little, probably because... Well, Zorome tenses for the same reason. It’d been at dinner when Zorome had confronted him, had tried in vain to make him eat, that they’d dropped a tray onto the ground, breaking the porcelain and spilling the seared, oil-slicked fish all over the grass. It’d been those same fish that Futoshi had forced himself to try to swallow a few minutes later, resulting in a string of pained gags from him. 

If he tries hard enough, Zorome can remember those sickening sounds. 

He winces a little, pushing those thoughts away as Futoshi finally grabs the stick the fish is skewered on and chews at its underbelly, ripping the white meat off with his teeth and slowly chewing. And then he goes for another bite, nibbling along the edge of the wooden stick. 

Next to Futoshi, Zorome smiles, still focused on his own plate, pretending not to pay Futoshi any mind. 

Zorome doesn’t say it, but he’s proud of him. 

* * *

Futoshi’s still in the bathroom. He has been for about ten minutes now. 

”Oi, don’t you think he’s been in there for too long?” Zorome asks aloud to Mitsuru, trying not to let the worry show. Zorome is seated on his bed, on the top bunk, rolling his pajama sleeves all the way up to his shoulders, legs stretched out on the mattress in front of him. 

As for Mitsuru, he’d slid his pajama shirt on just as the last word had left Zorome’s lips, and now tilts his head up to look at him. His arms are crossed. “He’s probably still getting ready for bed.” 

Something cold prickles Zorome’s spine, making him shiver a bit. He folds his legs in, pulling his knees up until he can rest his chin on them. “Slowpoke,” he scoffs, making a ‘tch’ noise before it. Inside, though, his heart still thumps with a peculiar uneasiness. It gnaws at the inside of his stomach, too. 

”Don’t overreact.” Zorome’s head snaps to face Mitsuru, who’s pulling his blankets up, ready to lay down. “It’s probably nothing.” Zorome scowls. He’s not sure whether to shout at him or find some solace in his words. 

As it turns out, Zorome does neither. He sits there, perfectly still, staring at the door—which is still creaked open, the hallway light filtering through—waiting to see Futoshi in the doorway, or hear his heavy footsteps getting louder as he gets closer. He taps his finger anxiously against his kneecaps, counting the seconds until he loses track and his arm drops limply. 

He stares into that soft yellow light coming through the open door until it hurts his eyes—until he’s rubbing at them, and they’re watering and raw. At some point, his gaze drifts to the small clock on the wall, and even though it feels like he’s been waiting for twenty more minutes on top of the actual ten, it’s only been two at the most. 

”—I’ll go get him,” announces Zorome after a few more agonizing seconds, crawling toward the ladder and sliding down swiftly, landing with a thump on the floor. Mitsuru opts to stay silent this time, only cocking an eyebrow and staring at him until he’s out of the room and out of sight. 

Zorome knows it must be _not knowing_ that’s making him so nervous. He doesn’t want to doubt Futoshi, but...it’s not like he’s _really_ doubting him, right? He just wants to help, he wants to know if anything’s wrong. He just worries a little too much; he worries and he bottles all of that worry inside until it spills out in the form of teary-eyed confrontation and snappy yelling. 

That’s how he’ll always be, probably. No, Zorome knows for sure that that’s exactly how he’ll always act. 

He swallows tightly, feeling the lump in his throat grow with each step he takes toward the boys’ bathroom. He doesn’t hear retching like he normally did all those days ago, when Futoshi couldn’t keep his meals down, which is a good sign on its own, but...he won’t be breathing a sigh of relief until he sees Futoshi well, in the flesh. 

His feet patter along the carpeting. Zorome’s footfall is quiet, nearly silent. Like a predator waiting to strike. He’ll pop into the bathroom and check on Futoshi, then pretend like he was just there to quickly pee—if it turns out that everything’s fine, that is. 

A pool of dread still bores a deep hole in his stomach, sucking some of his hope away and making the color in his face drain to pale. 

_Tap, tap, tap _.__

__Zorome takes those few more steps, down the hall, treading lightly as he approaches. The open doorway of the bathroom lies to his right, though there isn’t the usual faint, white light streaming through it. Normally, that would indicate that it’s unoccupied..._ _

__Zorome is understandably confused, and then a little suspicious. “What, is he downstairs gettin’ a snack or something...?” he mumbles, hands on his hips, sharply angled. Again, that could be a good thing, though, so it’s not like Zorome would mind that outcome either. He slouches and creeps towards the bathroom, slowly sneaking half his body—squinting—and then his other half comes into view._ _

__He’s fully in the frame, ready to look around inside, when—_ _

__Of course, it’s Futoshi who bumps into him. Who else would it be? He’d been the only one in there, after all._ _

__When they make contact, both of them let out a yelp and jump backwards, with Zorome scrunching his shoulders up and Futoshi waving his arms in front of him._ _

__It takes a few moments for both of them to come to their senses. Naturally, Futoshi does first—Zorome is still reeling a bit, heart pounding at the fear of getting found out. What’s he supposed to say? ‘ _I don’t trust you enough to let you use the bathroom by yourself_ ’ or ‘ _I thought you’d be puking_ ’? There just isn’t a good way to say what he feels. He feels like he’s backed into a corner. He feels stupid. _ _

__”—Oh! Zorome...?” Futoshi’s eyebrows are narrowed in confusion. His voice makes Zorome jump again. “What’re you—“_ _

__”—Sorry.” In his heart he’s saying it for his lack of belief in Futoshi, but it might as well just be an apology for running into him. Zorome’s hand flies up to play with the fluffy ends of his bangs. He looks down. “I just needed to...”_ _

__Zorome can’t bring himself to finish his sentence—because it’d be a lie. The guilt eats at his heart again. He shifts his weight, and swallows hard. Then, Zorome rub at his bare arm, scratching his skin with his fingernails and then brushing over where he’d touched._ _

__His gaze turns up to meet Futoshi’s._ _

__Futoshi has his hands folded in front of him, and an embarrassed expression on his face. When he meets Zorome’s gaze, he has that same hurt look in his eyes as he’d had at the dinner table, when Zorome had told him to ‘quit forcing himself.’ Suddenly Zorome feels another burst of pain in his chest._ _

__He taps along his arm again. “...If I say I just had to piss, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?” Zorome stays staring at him, fingers gripping his wrist tightly._ _

__Futoshi shakes his head slowly, squeezing his eyes shut. “D-Don’t worry about me so much...“_ _

__He blinks. Twice. Some mix of emotions flashes across his face, until he freezes with a tiny scowl pulling his lips down. His voice is hoarse when he says, ”I...I know you’re getting better, but—“ He stops himself, wincing as if he’d been physically slapped or punched. “I just can’t help but worry, Futoshi! There, I said it! I want to know how you’re doing, dammit! All the time, until you’re okay!”_ _

__It’s an admission that makes Zorome relax by a small margin. And then, instead of being aggressive like he had in their first confrontation, Zorome leaps forward into the other, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around his waist. His eyes are stinging with tears that he won’t allow to fall; he wipes his face into Futoshi’s chest, clutching him tightly, like he’ll fall over if he lets go._ _

__Futoshi’s so soft and comforting—as if he’s hugging a warm blanket. Zorome feels him return the embrace after the momentary surprise, one arm squeezing around his chest and the other patting his back. ”It’s fine, really, Zorome.” Futoshi lets out a breath, and a warm hum comes out of his mouth. “I do...appreciate it, though. You’re a good friend.”_ _

__The words shock him a little—especially when he knows that Futoshi isn’t the type to say things like that when he didn’t mean it. Zorome holds him tighter and then pulls his head backward, looking up at Futoshi. With one hand, he rubs at his eyes. “Y-You mean that?” He still asks, anyway, because he can never be too sure._ _

__And Futoshi laughs—really genuinely, and in that cute way that Zorome can’t forget. “Of course I do! You always have my back, Zorome, and you’re my best friend...”_ _

__Zorome pushes away fully, stepping backward as well. He wipes at his wet eyes again—but still, those tears don’t stain his cheeks. “Futoshi, you big lug—!”_ _

__And...he hears Futoshi’s stomach give a low gurgle, cutting Zorome off and filling the silent hallway with a quiet background noise. Slowly, a bright red blush spreads on Futoshi’s cheeks, and his hand reaches to cup his tummy, patting gently._ _

__”Heheh...” mutters Futoshi, who can’t help but laugh in spite of it all. “Sorry.”_ _

__Zorome sniffles through a chuckle, crossing his arms playfully. “But if you’re hungry, I can go get you something—_ _

__”—N-No!” He shakes his hands defensively, finally moving from his spot and walking over to Zorome, looking quite bashful. “We’re both going to bed. C’mon.”_ _

__Zorome doesn’t hesitate in sleepily trudging back to their dorm right by Futoshi’s side._ _

* * *

___Almost_ another month passes. _ _

____

Everyone goes about their own business. There isn’t as much tension as before. There’s talk that they might be getting orders soon, might finally get to speak with Nana and Hachi at HQ about their current situation. They still feel left in the dark, but the mood is improving. 

In that time, Zorome has managed to...help Futoshi fully get his appetite back, to say the least. 

He does what he’d already been doing: Avoiding the teasing, subtly pushing him more food, praising him when he can finish up a meal without any nausea, making sure he doesn’t feel any discomfort after or before eating. It isn’t long before Zorome is practically feeding Futoshi himself—shoving pastries the girls had baked in his face, bringing him ice cream and bread rolls in the lounge after playing ball in the back, offering dessert after lunch and dinner. 

Zorome had figured out early on that _support_ was what Futoshi needed, ultimately. It’d been best to take it slow, because it wasn’t like Futoshi didn’t _want_ to eat—of course he did, it was just that he’d felt so nauseated when he ate sometimes, or he’d have such a lack of appetite that he could starve himself without feeling hungry. 

Those symptoms are all but gone, now. 

”—Futoshi!” Zorome walks outside through the double doors with a long tray in his hands, eyes searching until he finds Futoshi talking with Mitsuru in the shade underneath the boarding house. “Miku and Kokoro have some sweet rolls they want you to try...” 

On the tray, there’s three plates with three different colored rolls of cake; one that’s yellow with white cream, a second made of chocolate cake and chocolate frosting, and the last that’s green-tea flavored with more vanilla cream rolled on the inside. They’re fairly small, more like a sampling size, each with a dainty fork clinked against the porcelain. 

”Ooo...” There’s a brief glint in Futoshi’s eyes as he catches a glimpse of the sweets as Zorome passes by, staring a little too long. He catches himself and turns back to Mitsuru. “Err, do you mind—“ 

”—Go ahead.” Mitsuru closes his eyes and the smallest, barest grin confirms that he truly isn’t bothered by it. 

Futoshi stares a bit pensively, but quickly switches his expression to a gentle smile. “Mmhmm.” He goes to follow Zorome, who’s just setting the metal tray down on the wooden table that’s standing on the grass. 

”Make sure you tell the girls how they tasted,” says Zorome as Futoshi sits down, ruffling his hair a bit. “They’ve been in there making a mess in the kitchen the whole day, you know, so these better be good!” He finds himself waggling his finger a little, like he’s scolding them. 

”R-Right, right, I will!” And Futoshi waves his hand dismissively, already picking up a fork. “These look good, at least...” He smiles up at Zorome before licking his lips and digging in. 

Zorome’s a little jealous when he starts walking away toward the house again—those cake rolls had smelled awfully sweet and warm, but he supposes he owes it to Futoshi to give him _all_ of them since he’d eaten all of the girls’ last creation before him. 

”—Notice anything different about him?” Zorome turns to where the voice had come from. Mitsuru is leaning against one of the white stone pillars supporting the roof, head thrown backward lightly. 

”What the hell are you talking about?” Well, Zorome’s heart can’t help but thump a little. Was Futoshi not doing well again? Had he missed some sort of signs? 

A sigh comes from the other. “Please. You had to have noticed that he’s gained a little weight back.” 

Zorome looks at him and blinks. Then he tilts his head back to Futoshi, who’s still eating those sweet rolls, chopping them with his fork and lifting it up, that blissful look on his face again. There’s icing dotting his lips, and his chubby cheeks—which, now that’s really looking, seem the slightest bit chubbier. His gaze falls lower as his eyebrows narrow... Yes, he can see that there’s a little more chub along Futoshi’s waist, and a little bump where his soft belly is starting show underneath his uniform. 

That’s...because of _him_ isn’t it? Zorome swallows, willing his blush away. But that’s what he’d been trying to accomplish in the first place, right? To make Futoshi feel comfortable again? 

”—W-Well, what’s wrong with that?!” snaps Zorome suddenly, leaning against the column next to him with one side. His hand brushes against the carefully carves ridges. He feels that familiar heat in his face, and looks down. 

”Nothing, it’s just,” Mitsuru clears his throat, stifling a laugh, “it’s proof that you’ve been taking _good_ care of him.” They’re both aware that it’s more than just that. There’s a resigned sigh from Mitsuru, then a moment of silence. 

”It just means he’s feeling better, dumbass, that’s all.” Zorome shrugs, though he can’t help the genuine smile that lifts his lips up as his gaze falls the Futoshi again. 

Mitsuru ignores him and still continues, ”Could it be...that you care more about Futoshi than you let on?” There’s a smirk toying at the corners of Mitsuru’s lips. 

Well...he can’t deny it when all the proof Mitsuru needs is right there. ”—Oh, shaddup!” Zorome flicks his hand at the other several times, sneering. Yeah, he’ll go with his usual uninterested, annoying approach. It’s easy to argue with Mitsuru, after all. Sometimes Zorome can’t understand how Futoshi’ been able to befriend him lately. “I’m just helping. That’s what friends do, not like you’d know.” 

”...Right.” That smirk appears full force on Mitsuru’s face as he crosses his arms, watching as Zorome turns his head away to quietly fume and pout. 

So what if everyone can see how much he cares? Zorome lets out a breath, shutting his eyes lightly, finally going limp against the column supporting his back— 

The others knowing his feelings... Maybe it isn’t so bad, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> i finished this up today because i thought it was about time i post a fic for my fave boys. comments and criticism appreciated ♥️
> 
> tumblr [@usabuns](http://usabuns.tumblr.com), twitter [@usabuns](https://mobile.twitter.com/usabuns)
> 
> ....and if you want a laugh, i made this amv a few days ago ;)


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